


Tradition

by yoshi09



Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: Bash x Mary, F/M, Mabastian, Mary x Bash, mash - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-12 10:40:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1185288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoshi09/pseuds/yoshi09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Sebastian and Mary's wedding night, and with every royal wedding comes the not-so-romantic tradition of consummation witnesses. Mary gets cold feet, and then sets out to make up for it. WARNING: Contains light bondage and rough play.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Night with a King

Author's Note: Seriously not enough explicit fics for this pairing, and it surprises me. Decided to remedy this fact with a little twist. This is chaptered, but just about complete, so no worries on whether or not it'll get finished since it already has been. Update will come every Sunday or so (earlier if given enough love- speaking of love, thanks for giving my other Mabastian fic 'Scars' so much of it! You guys are awesome).

Timeline: Sometime during a fangirl's imagination the night after Bash and Mary get married, and the day after.

* * *

_Chapter 1: A Night with a King_

The wedding happened much quicker than anticipated. One moment Mary was getting fussed over and adorned with enough jewelry to double her weight, the next moment she was getting whisked away to a room— not her room, not Sebastian's room— some other room, unfamiliar, well-prepared, far too large, but the hearth was a nice touch. How did they make those flames get so high? Where did they get logs that size? Really, it was quite warm in here already, the fireplace was practically a forge—

"Mary," Bash said, smiling in amusement above her. It was clear by the twinkle in his eyes that he had called her name more than once.

"Yes?" she said— squeaked, really.

"Mary, where did you go?"

Again, she was struck by the nearness of him. They were still clothed, but barely— her in her night shift and him in a loose white shirt and she hadn't the constitution to look further down. She could barely remember the servants removing her earrings, her necklaces, her bracelets (what was the point of all that jewelry when it was all coming off anyway?), her wedding dress— they left her wedding band at least, how kind— and suddenly she was here. Under Bash. On some too-soft bed that was attempting to consume them both. Consume. Right. That's what they were here to do. Consummation. Right.

" _Mary."_  Bash said again, almost in exasperation, this time a chuckle followed her name. He was so close his breath ruffled her hair.

Mary's eyes focused back on Bash again, throat constricting, just a little. She could hear some of the "witnesses" (voyeurs!) shifting beyond the curtain around their bed.

"I swear," Bash continued, his eyes swept over her face from her eyes, to her lips, over her cheeks, back to her eyes again. He shifted his weight to one side so he was still suspended above her, but had freedom to use a hand to gently sweep a lock of hair from her forehead. He visibly swallowed. "I swear," he repeated, voice reduced to a whisper, "I could see your heartbeat like a caged thing in your throat. You must relax."

Relax. Relax, when his arms were either side of her head and shoulders, and he was centimeters away? Relax, when basically  _all of France_ were just outside of several layers of heavy, though sheer, white curtain? Waiting for her to moan, or whimper, or whatever it was she was supposed to do that indicated that she was doing what she was supposed to be doing... she was thinking in circles.

"Do you think your father put enough curtains in the room? Am I supposed to see you?"

Her weak joke made Bash smile again. He caressed her cheek soothingly. "Ah. And the Queen has a voice after all. I was wondering if I  _finally_  managed to render you speechless. If I knew all it took was getting you into bed..."

Mary couldn't stop her smile from forming. "Mercy, Bash, do you ever relent?"

"I could," he murmured, eyes intent, and Mary felt her cheeks reddening at the wonderment she saw in them. For her. "And I would," he went on, softly, "if you asked. I would do anything you would ask of me."

And she knew it was true. She cupped his face, took in the longing she saw there, felt it reflected deep inside her core, aching to meet him. Mary felt herself rise her head, just a little, her lips drawn to his like—

Someone coughed over by the foot of the bed. Mary practically jumped out of her skin. Then she remembered where she was and where this was supposed to lead to, and how many people were in the room with them— she could see Bash deflate, look away for just a moment as if silently cursing the person who interrupted their moment, before his attention returned to her. He took in her nervous expression, the stiffness in her shoulders, and then as if he made up his mind he gave her a determined, minute nod and rolled off to her side.

Mary felt the panic well inside her. "Bash, what are you—"

He quickly put a finger to her lips, silencing her immediately. "We don't have to do this." he said, his voice so low, so quiet, that if she wasn't as close as she was, she wouldn't have heard it.

"But Scotland—"

He pressed her lips with his finger with just a little more insistence. "No, Mary," he continued quietly, "If we do this, I want to be making love to you, not to a nation." Seeing her open her mouth in protest again, he quickly went on, "I know what we have to do. But we don't have to do it tonight."

There was question bright in her eyes and he smiled at her curiosity. "Would you like to play a game?" he mouthed to her, "A game of pretend?"

Following his line of thinking, she rose her eyebrows. "Is it an embarrassing one?"

He grinned at her. "Very." And without further preamble, he grabbed her by the hips, and flipped her on top of him so quickly she couldn't help the squeal of laughter that pealed from her lips. She caught herself from falling over by placing her hands on his chest and suddenly she realized she was straddling his hips. He gave her a roguish grin and Mary gave him her best "You did just not" look she could muster under the circumstances. Then, he began to move. Thrusting his hips upwards. Under her. Mary flushed considerably. He huffed dramatically, eyebrows wrinkling, his breathing becoming more and more labored with each faux stroke. "Ah,  _Mary._  You are perfection." he exalted breathlessly. Mary felt her hands clench his shirt at his manner of speech, the way he said her  _name,_ she cold feel her ears growing hot— surely, he must know, people could hear him? And without changing pace, his expression changed to the Bash she knew— He rose his eyebrows, inclining his head to her as if saying 'follow my lead.' Mary looked at him, lost, embarrassed, feeling altogether too warm. He clenched her hips just a little tighter, and if it was possible, Mary felt herself redden further at how  _right_  they felt wrapped on either side of her. He raised her hips up and down against him. 'Move with me' he mouthed. Mary, only having done this once before and never atop someone, was clearly out of her element and was thankful for the lead. She started to move of her own accord, bouncing in rhythm against him, and seeing Bash throw his head back, she did the same. The sound of his heavy, mouth-breathing filled her ears— deep, heated, stirring something within her. She hadn't realized her own breath was becoming labored, from the exertion of their false display. There was something... pleasurable, about the bumping of their hips alone. Mary clenched her hands on his chest again, overly aware of the hard planes of muscle beneath her fingers. She dropped her head back down, eyes meeting his, and her breath caught at the intensity of which he looked at her. His eyes were darker, focused, beautiful in a way that she had never seen.

"Bash," she said, surprised at the hoarseness in her voice, the way it came out broken, breathy. She could see his throat bob as he swallowed and he nodded his assent at how well she was playing their game. A thin sheen of perspiration gathered at the hollow of his neck. Bash's thrusts became just a bit harder, just a little more insistent, as he mimicked the coming of his climax. The action thrust her a little more forward against him, and she caught herself again, breath catching at the back of her throat in an unintended gasp. This new alteration of their position made it so she was positively rubbing herself on his abdomen, his thrusts and hands on her hips, keeping her low to his body to create the full illusion of their coupling. She closed her eyes. The angle rubbed her in places touched once by Francis, but not like this. Not where she had the leverage, the weight of her body pressing down. It felt good. It felt really good.

"Bash," she said again, his name slipping from her lips breathily— wanting to ask, not knowing how. She opened her eyes, and Bash was there, right with her, eyes boring into her soul, a torrent of something primal just brimming the surface. "I want..." she was having trouble concentrating— the sound of their breaths intermingling, the pleasure he stirred between them inexplicable, unexpected, not enough. "Please." she whispered, voice breaking. She grabbed for his left hand on her hip, guiding it under her and to her core. He stiffened, his pace faltering just a moment, as she pressed his fingers to her, and he could feel how wet she was. His eyes widened, unsure of what she was asking, looking deeply into her eyes as if they held instruction. Mary began moving her hand against his, rubbing herself with his fingers in such a way her eyes fell closed and she gasped his name. Over, and over, and over. Still thrusting to keep up their charade, he used his other hand to pull hers from his left as he continued to stroke her unguided. Her eyes opened in question, worried he might stop, desperate he would not, and she met his gaze as he lifted her fingers to his lips. Bash kissed them, lovingly, adoringly, and then speeding up his ministrations beneath her as if sensing her closeness, the winding curling low and tight within her belly, he brought her first two fingers into her mouth without breaking their gaze, suckling her juices from them. The action was altogether so erotic she felt the winding inside her tighten abruptly— and snap. Her back arched away from him, as if her soul was trying to fly out of her body, and she shouted his name brokenly. She felt herself shatter, and she shook above him, a pleasure so intense it was almost pain— and then she slid back together again, boneless. She collapsed against him, breathing heavily, and distantly she was aware that he had stopped thrusting, that he was caressing her hair, murmuring something beautiful in French against the top of her head. French too deep that she couldn't have possibly learned it at the convent. But it was lovely, and if she wasn't so tired at that moment she would have insisted he speak nothing but French to her for the rest of their lives.

In that moment, Mary was so completely happy she was asleep before she heard the last of the witnesses leave the room.

* * *

A/N: I was never in a fandom in which I had to actively isolate myself from it while writing because it made me too depressed. At least, until Mabastian. On that note, if you liked it, please tell me why! If you couldn't stand it, please tell me why! If you prefer cake over pie or you actually enjoy pineapple-anchovy pizza, please tell me why! As one of my favorite fanfic authors once said, "Reviews are the only way we get paid." Thank you for reading!


	2. A Day with a Queen

A/N: I feel obligated to mention that I actually really like Francis, as I do all the characters in Reign (they're all so well-written! Everyone is flawed yet great). I choose to omit him from my fics and most other characters because whenever there's a Bash/Mary scene in the show it's literally presented as if the world around them fades away and it's just the two of them. They're always shown as being so involved with each other in their moments that they're basically only interrupted by something dire haha. As I try to make all my fanfic as true to the original as I could, and my stories are all character-driven a lot of the cast won't be making an appearance. Well, at least until I think of a storyline with an actual plot that isn't just 'get Bash and Mary in another moment' haha. Thank you so kindly for the comments, kudos and bookmarks!

* * *

_Chapter 2: A Day with a Queen_

Mary woke the next day warm, safe, and wholly content. She could feel the soft rise and fall of Bash's chest beneath her, soothingly lulling her to sleep once again.

"Your Grace," Bash's voice came, deep with disuse and full with sleep. It was altogether an alluring sound, one she looked forward to hearing every morning for as long as fate would allow.

"Mm..?" Mary mumbled, burying her face deeper into his side as if somehow that would stop all that bright light from coming through the curtains while hinting to him she was not yet ready to wake up. He chuckled, the vibrations of his body humming through her.

"Mary," he began anew, "It's half past noon. People will begin to wonder if their queen yet lives."

"Have someone write a note that says 'Yes' and nail it to the door then." Mary murmured.

Bash laughed harder, and that made Mary look up, squint at him in disapproval through her lashes. "Are you always this saucy in the morning?" He was practically glowing as he swept stray locks away from her face, his gaze moving all about, soaking in her beauty, her presence. "I could get used to it." His laugh faded from his lips as his hand moved to caress her temple thoughtfully. Mary leaned into his touch, supple to his affection. If asked, she wouldn't be able to pinpoint when her fondness began for Bash, just that it didn't feel new. She was sure, somewhere deep in her heart he must have always lived there. These thoughts must have reflected onto her face because Bash shook his head, overcome. "I am still uncertain if yesterday was a dream, or if I am still dreaming."

"Dreams," Mary whispered, rolling over so she was atop him, forearms braced onto his shoulders, legs straddling his hips, "are never this good." She leaned down, caught his lower lip in her teeth, sucked his mouth to hers. She could feel the sharp intake of his breath, and she smiled against his mouth. It took a mere moment for Bash to adjust to the headiness of her proximity, and then he was kissing her, deeply. His hand went to the nape of her neck, pressing her close, savoring her taste, her assault to his senses. His other hand ran down the length of her spine and she shivered at his slow, extraordinary torture through the thinness of her shift. Mary sighed into the kiss, melting into his embrace. The hand tracing down her spine suddenly latched around her waist, and without breaking their kiss, he flipped them over one armed so she was beneath him. Mary gasped in delight, and she found herself wrapping her arms around his neck, bringing his body even closer. Their kiss was becoming increasingly insistent, and it wasn't until Bash rolled his hips onto hers and Mary let out a soft whimper at the contact did Bash pull away, looking shaken. His hair was mussed, Mary's fingers tangled in it, and she couldn't remember putting them there. He looked lost, breathless.

"Mary," he said, swallowing visibly as he cleared his throat, "We— we shouldn't."

Mary's brow furrowed, not understanding. He stared at her, entranced. He licked his lips, eyes flicking away, trying to collect his thoughts.

"That is, we probably shouldn't..." he seemed faraway, more talking to himself than Mary.

"Shouldn't what?" Mary asked, trying hard to keep her features neutral, and failing. Her shift had slipped off her shoulder, revealing one soft, creamy shoulder. He gently pulled the sleeve back up, covering her, before he rolled off her and sat at the edge of bed. Concerned, Mary sat up behind him, ignoring the way his shoulder went rigid when she placed her hand there. "Bash? What's wrong? Tell me."

He rubbed his face, slowly, as if pushing the sleep away. "Mary," his voice was slightly muffled by his hands, "Last night, you were so nervous—"

"Not because of  _you_." she implored, her other hand reaching for his other shoulder as she scooted in close behind him, "Half the court was in the room last night, bent on ensuring I provide an heir. It wasn't exactly intimate."

"That is exactly why we shouldn't." He seemed pensive, steely. As if some resolve just came to him.

"Bash you're making no sense. It is my duty and among yours to produce an heir—"

"God,  _the politics_ , Mary." he said in exasperation. " _Produce_  an heir. You are more than some barren vessel waiting to be filled."

Had it not been for the way he spat the words, she might have been a little touched.

"I'm beginning to feel you married a man but expected a king. I married a woman who happens to be a queen. Do you see where the differences lay?" he looked over his shoulder, but not at her, instead choosing some place to his left to focus on as he continued. "I want to be with you. God knows I want you more than life itself, but last night you were with me for  _Scotland_. When we are together, I want you to be with me, like before, before the politics, with no pretenses, no conditions. I don't want you to be with me because you have to be."

Mary felt her heart lurch with a feeling between apology, sympathy and affection. "Bash." she said. He didn't look at her but she knew he was listening. "I... I am... unaccustomed to putting myself first. All... all my life, I have been raised for Scotland. My nation and I are one and the same." This made Bash turn to look at her, but Mary was so engrossed in her thoughts she didn't notice, her gaze locked somewhere beyond the curtains in front of them. "But when we met, spoke for the first time— When you caught me rushing after Sterling at the edge of the wood... you ignited something within me. A spark. A spark kindled into a flame and I didn't stop it. I didn't want to." She looked back at him then, eyes focusing and as if some epiphany just came to her, her voice hushed, "Being with you is the most selfish thing I've allowed myself."

Bash looked awestruck, his mouth parting speechlessly under the gravity of her words. Her hands moved from his shoulders to his face, cupping it. He turned his body a little more, to better face her, his hands covering hers, pulling them down. She lifted herself into a kneel behind him to get more leverage and then leaned in to kiss him over his shoulder, as if to seal her words into promise. Their kiss deepened, and Mary moved to his side, pressing him back down into the bed, his legs still dangling off it's edge. His hands cupped her face, ran through her hair, gathering some locks to the back of her head and gripped them sharper than usual to angle her head and realign their lips. The movement was unlike any Bash had done before, and it was exquisite. Mary heard herself whimper in approval. As if the sound of Mary's pleasure clicked something into place, Bash flipped them over again, his mouth moving from her lips now to kiss her jawline, the curve of her neck, her collarbone. She gasped, her mouth exhaling her need, "Bash, make love to me."

He paused in his actions, mouth hovering above the hollow of her throat. He closed his eyes. "Mary, you do not understand what you are asking."

"Bash," she said, almost impatiently, but the rest of her words were lost as Bash began kissing her neck again, his words flushing against her skin.

"Last night," he breathed, lips so close they brushed her skin causing her to quiver, "I almost lost myself."

"But you didn't." Mary reminded, her hands splaying into his hair, wordlessly encouraging him.

"Yes..." the 's' dragged shivers straight to her core. "But Mary, I wanted to." He caught her collarbone in his teeth, licked her there and she sighed his name. "I wanted to lose myself in you." Bash moved himself up, nipping her earlobe before he whispered heatedly into her ear, "You incite the most vicious of passions inside me." He rolled his hips experimentally against hers and suddenly she was aware of just how hard, and large, he was. Her cheeks colored and Bash smiled, leaning back to take her in— breathless, flushed, yearning.

"You tease me," she accused, quaking beneath him. She wanted him so much it was almost a physical pain.

"No, my queen," he corrected gently, leaning down to catch her bottom lip like she did to him before, "I warn."

* * *

A/N: Am I making Bash too hot? If yes, leave a comment. If no, leave a comment. If unsure, leave two comments (I also take payment in form of bookmarks and kudos). I. am. shameless. See you next week (likely sooner if given enough love!) for the final, very long, chapter!


	3. The Lion

A/N: AO3 reviewers are among the most thoughtful in fandom. I really do hope you all enjoy this. It was a fun time to write and I hope it's just as fun to read.

* * *

_Chapter 3: The Lion_

Mary's pulse quickened at his unbidden promise. The anticipation welled low in her body and she wanted badly to rid of it. Their lips slid together, her hands a flurry through his hair. He rolled onto his back, bringing her with him and Mary decided he was wearing far too many clothes. She pulled back away from him, pulling restlessly at his shirt, at his trousers, but Bash's eyes darkened and he flipped them again so he was above her. The quickness caused Mary's breath to knock from her momentarily and he took advantage of her disorientation to gather both her wrists from his shirt and shove them above her head.

"Not yet." he growled against her throat.

"Bash, I swear, if this is another game—" her words cut off into a groan as his knuckle found her clit through her shift. He rubbed her in small, slow torturous circles, intently watching the display of emotion flit across her face. But he was playing with her, the friction not enough nor to the speed which pulled her to fruition the night before. Her head swept from side to side, her hips moving of their own accord to grind herself more fully against him, but he wouldn't relent his frustratingly slow pace. "Bash!" she barked, her tone a command. He chuckled and Mary opened her eyes to glare at him, unaware she had closed them. His eyes had darkened into a summer storm over an ocean and a thrill ran through her seeing him looking so wild, so reckless. This was so different from his savoring kisses, so different from Francis' gentle, careful love-making. Bash submersed himself in his abandon, and he dragged her down with her.

"Be patient, your grace, I have only just begun." his smile was roguish, dimples denting his cheeks. She could feel the hand that wasn't pinning her wrists above her begin to slide her shift over her legs, over her body. She lifted herself so the shift would come off easier and had she not been in such a rush to have him rid of it she might've noticed how his eyes took in her bare form like she was a thing of worship. He stopped pulling the shift at her wrists however and he said, very seriously, "Now Mary, please don't move."

Her haze of lust gave way to a moment of curiosity, and before she could properly assess what he was doing, her shift was tied about her wrists.

"Hmm," Bash hummed, grinning at Mary's mock-horrified expression. "If you do not move your hands from above your head I won't have to tie you to the bedpost, does that sound like a deal?" his eyes were twinkling with mischief.

"Both are terrible choices." she said, unable to keep from mirroring his smile.

"I'll tie you to the bedpost then?" he said reaching up. She squealed, squirming away from him, and he pulled her back easily to him, kissing her fully on the lips. Mary's giggles turned quickly into sighs and then his mouth left hers in favor of working their way down to her neck, kissing down the center of her chest... her eyes fluttered shut, her body humming in anticipation, and then suddenly she felt her hands being shoved above her head again, rougher than the first time. She hadn't realized she brought them down to touch him.

"Mary." he said warningly, his voice an edge above growl as he looked up at her, lips wet and hovering oh so close to the swell of her breast, breathing goosebumps onto her skin. "I believe we had a deal?" his eyes were mocking and Mary wanted to hate him, for just a moment.

"The deal is hardly fair." Mary exhaled, arching her back to lift herself closer to his mouth.

He moved away, opting to push himself up so he was inches away from her face, his body balanced to one side on his elbow. "I never said anything about..." two of his digits pressed onto her clit, suddenly, unexpectedly and Mary inhaled sharply, fingers digging into the cushion above her head, "...fair." he finished, pleased with her reaction.

Whatever retort Mary had in mind was lost in sensation as Bash finally began caressing her in that perfect amount of pressure and pace, drawing sighs and moans from her throat, her body supple to his touch. She buried her face into the cradle of her arm, trying to muffle herself. Mary had been sure she knew of what a man's touch entailed, but she hadn't expected this. She felt as if all nerves were attuned just to the tips of his fingers, everything he did driving her into relief and frenzy all at once. Mary had an idle thought of how he was a quick study, having only shown him once her preference. She was close, oh-so close... she felt the beginning of her crest towards the edge, and suddenly he withdrew his fingers. Her heightening sighs of pleasure veered into a shout of frustration, and as if Bash had expected her resentment he bolted a hand down onto her wrists, his other arm slinging over her hips so she was forced to stay where she was.

"Bash this is torment!" She yelled, clenching her fists at the incredible pleasure he just denied her.

"Yes." he agreed, his voice deceptively soothing as he nuzzled her cheek, her neck, inhaling deeply. "It is."

"God, Bash," she cursed, and at this Bash rose his brows in amusement. Her body was so on edge she was trembling. "Am I the only one affected?"

He smirked, rolling his hips against her side so she could feel him through his trousers. "Hardly."

If Mary wasn't so frustrated with him she might've laughed. "You are incorrigible— ("Yes," Bash acceded, lips pressing to the top of her head) — loathesome— ("Yes.") — _horrid_. ("Yes.")" Each of her words were punctuated with a resentful gasp, her body curling away at the same time her cheek sought comfort in his chest, her fingers clutched into the pillow, "Bash, why would you stop?"

"Because now," he breathed into her hair, his gaze flicking down to watch his fingers as he ran them languidly over the curve of her thigh, "your body will sing for me."

She tensed immediately at his slow caress, back arching, and had she once thought she ached for him before, she now understood the true meaning of craving.

"You are..." he said, eyes soaking in her face, her lips, the swell of her chest, the dip in her stomach, shamelessly, "...most beautiful, Mary." His fingers traveled over the rise of her hips, grazed the softness of her belly, traced patterns just under her breasts, his touch leaving goosebumps in their wake. She felt him move so he was above her, and she struggled to keep herself composed, her eyes shutting with the concentration."Mary," he said, voice deceptively courteous, "Mary... sweet Mary, please look at me."

Her eyes opened of their own accord to see him hovering just above her left breast. His eyes held her with him as he dipped his head, his mouth, down to her nipple. She gasped, nails carving bruised half-moons into her palms. He sucked and lapped at her, his stubble scraping her sensitive skin, creating the most exquisite of sensation.

Mary's body was still tense, taut with the ache of her almost-release, and she whimpered, feeling entirely bound by his touch.

His lips left her nipple, his gaze leaving hers to attend her body and he pushed himself, and his wet kisses, down her stomach, to her hips... to her...

She curled, a groan escaping her lips, and her torso rose so far off the bed, she almost sat up. Her hands, still tied, reached to grab for his hair as he pressed his mouth to her core and with a sharp swiftness he caught her restrained wrists with a hand, lifted himself up, and shoved her body back down with his own onto the bed.

Her words came so quickly they seemed to spill all at once from her lips, almost unintelligible with their speed and desperation. "Release me. Release me, Bash, I can not—" she huffed, unsteady, head whirling to find the words as his hand pressed her wrists more insistently to the pillow above her head, "—I can not bear it." And it was true, she was shaking beneath him.

He looked at her, his expression impenetrable, unreadable. He waited but a moment and then he was kissing her, hard, a frantic clash of teeth and lips.

Mary felt tears sting her eyes at the force of her need coursing through her, her inability to reciprocate his touch a unique cruelty that rendered her desperate and panting.

He sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, pulling away gruffly with a small tug of teeth.

As if remembering her legs were still free as his weight pressed him between them, Mary wrapped her thighs around his hips, eyes fluttering closed as she rolled her hips up to his.

He buckled, almost collapsing entirely upon her at the unexpected sensation. Bash buried his head into the side of her neck, muffling his own moan as he pushed himself more fully against her in response. She sighed, tightening the grip of her legs around his waist, the feeling of him straining, so solid, beneath his trousers an agony. He hissed and without warning bit her at the curve of her neck to dampen his loud groan. Mary cried out, exalting in the pleasurable pain, and mercifully she felt him reach up and untie her hands blindly, his face still buried at her shoulder, his body rigid with focus.

Her hands finally free, her fingers immediately went to grab at his hair, slip over his ears, the back of his neck, to splay over the thin cloth of his shirt. Never had she been more grateful to touch, to feel. She cupped his cheeks in her hands, pulling his face up to hers so she can see him better, and he looked disoriented, lost, his eyes swimming with emotion she couldn't even begin to describe. Bash was completely limp to her touch. She brought her mouth to his, and as if her lips were revival his hands went to her face, down her shoulders, her waist— Mary grabbed hold of the back of his loose shirt, pulling it roughly out of his trousers, their mouths leaving each other for but a moment as his shirt passed between them. The feel of his skin against hers was sin. She exhaled deeply into his mouth, her fingernails pulling into his bare back. He growled against her lips, and then flipped them over so she was atop and straddling him. Mary didn't waste any time in attempting to unfasten his trousers, but she struggled at the clasp, her desire getting the best of her.

"Impatient, your grace?" he said, his voice too gruff and affected for the cheekiness he aimed for.

"I want to have you," she started, pulling roughly at his pants, her usual demure composure giving way to boldness in her heady yearning for him, "as you had me last night." Bash pushed her hands away, unbuckling his belt and fastenings for her as she went on. "I want to be moving above you, with you." She lifted her hips as he shoved the garment over himself, past his thighs, kicking it the rest of the way off. "I want you to fill me, Bash." She leaned low over him, kissing him most fiercely, and she could feel him rigid against her lower abdomen. His hands moved hastily to shove her hair from her face, gather it to the back of her head and gripped it there with a force that made her cry out. His mouth found her pulse, kissed her there, her shoulders, her throat, as if he was a man possessed.

"To have you like this," he husked against her skin, eyes closed to fully appreciate the feel of all her curves against him, "with your soul bare, bathing me in light... I must be truly blessed." She pulled away, just barely, as if to assess him, and his eyes opened, looking up at her with an overwhelming vulnerability as he continued, "When we spoke at the edge of the wood for the first time, I felt in you a freedom, a familiarity of spirit. Had I understood how you would affect me I might have stayed away. But I know now the effort would have been in vain. Your presence... intoxicates me. You, Queen," his eyes searched hers unabashedly, "You are a wild thing— you can not be captured." His hands dropped from her hair, and it fell in curtains around them before he went to cup her face, "I promise you, I will follow you wherever you may go, for as long as you will have me. I am yours."

Her eyes softened at the enormity of his confession, more overwhelming than any proclamation of love. Bash was pledging his life. Her words came out breathless, "Bash," she smoothed a thumb over his eyebrow and then leaned her forehead against his, eyes closing gently, "but you  _have_  captured me. I am already yours."

He ran a tentative hand through her hair, his words halting, "This is a dream." he whispered for the second time that day.

She shook her head, smiling at him. Mary leaned down to catch his lips, biting his bottom lip playfully before pulling away. He grinned at that, his expression more sure and with one arm around her waist he flipped them over easily so she had her back against the mattress.

"You are certain?" He asked, just the smallest hint of doubt still present in his words. "We can still stop and it will not change how I feel for you."

Mary laughed, almost in exasperation. "Bash, if you keep trying to distract me with your pretty words I'll begin to suspect you doubt my love for you."

Bash paused.

Mary's eyes widened, as if realizing what she said the exact time he did.

"You love me?" He repeated, very slowly, the slightest of smiles forming at the corner of his mouth.

Mary swallowed visibly, her pulse speeding at what she just revealed. She had aimed for teasing and failed. "Do I?"

"Do you?"

She knew it was useless to deny him. "No."

Bash grinned, his eyes bright. "My Queen, I may yet be a novice in court but if you want to be any good at politics you have to learn to lie..." he brought his mouth to hers, exhaling the last word against her lips, "...better." His hands gripped her thighs as their kiss deepened. There was something different about this kiss that made it incomparable to all the ones before— it was somehow more complete, more full, an undercurrent of something between joyousness and relief punctuating its softness. He pulled away, leaning his forehead against hers.

"You must know. You must already know," Bash said, eyes alight, breathing deeply, "But I will say it nevertheless— I love you."

He kissed her again, and she could feel him, tormentingly hard against her thigh. "I love you." He pulled away kissing her right below her ear. "I love you."

She giggled, completely taken by his happiness. "Bash, as much as it pleases me to hear those words over and over again, it is rude to keep a lady waiting."

"I could say them over and over for eternity and it still wouldn't be enough." he said, and she could feel him smiling against her skin.

She laughed in turn, giddy with his relentlessly courtly responses. "If you make me wait for an eternity I will—" she gasped throatily, interrupting herself as she felt two of his fingers press at her entrance, testing her readiness.

His eyebrows raised at how wet she was, the most impish of smiles on his lips and had Mary not felt such a strong longing for him she might have been embarrassed. She felt him position himself at her entrance, felt the bed shift as he pulled back, and she took a deep intake of breath as he pressed gingerly forward, as if testing her. She tensed immediately and he stopped. She may not be a virgin but it had been a long time since her first, as wet as she was.

"Bash, I swear," she said, her feistiness returning with his hesitation, "if you stop now I do not think I will recover."

He let out a shaky chuckle, "Mary, as much as I desire you, intensely, I will not hurt you. I will do this right."

"Eternally noble," Mary said, pulling him down to her so she could kiss him, "You must know much about 'doing this right.' How many women have had been on the receiving end of that line?" she baited, breathlessly.

"Only one counts." He said, equally breathless despite his teasing lilt. Mary pushed her hips up impatiently against his. The pain was sharp and sudden and she drew in a quick breath. She could feel him begin to pull out, despite being barely inside her. Her hands went to his lower back, halting him. "No." she said, biting her lip. "I'm fine—"

"Mary, you're in pain—"

"Sebastian." The use of his full name focused him. "I want you. Do not leave me."

He nodded, mouth parted. He pressed just a little more forward and she stiffened. She could feel the muscles in his back tighten with the exertion to hold still, waiting for her body to relax around him. He was so  _large_.

"Are you all right?" he asked, gruffly.

Mary nodded, her eyes closed as she focused her body on relaxing. As if sensing her unease he shifted his weight onto one hand, and then moved his free arm down to press two of his fingers at her clit. She gasped, her back arching, as he made slow circles at the juncture of her thighs. His earlier denial of her pleasure was still imprinted there and her hips rose up to push more firmly against his hand. Almost in unison he pulled his hips back minutely and then surged forward, filling her suddenly, completely to the hilt. She cried out at the fullness as he groaned loudly, his arm holding his weight collapsing to his elbow.

They stayed like that, for a moment, two, waiting for her body to adjust, the only sound in the room the intermingling of their deep breaths.

Slowly, agonizingly slow, he began to pull out of her, dragging a gasp from her at the mixed sensation of pleasure and pain.

"God, Mary," he cursed, his head dropping to her shoulder, his body quivering at his display of control. She was so tight. He removed the hand he placed at her core to the side of her, to better brace himself over her. And then when he was just barely in her entrance again he pushed forward, obviously trying very hard to be gentle. His consideration was kind, but it was not what Mary needed. Craved. Not now.

"I will not break, my lord." she sighed against his ear. He glanced at her at the use of this new title and Mary flung her arms around his neck, drawing him close. "Lose yourself in me."

Bash exhaled unsteadily at her words, his eyes moved unfocused to her shoulder. "I do not wish to hurt you—"

Impatient, Mary drew her own hips away from his and then pushed her hips quickly up to meet his, drawing a moan from both of them. "Bash," she pulled back away from him again, rolling her hips up once more, the pain now completely gone leaving the most satisfying of sensations. Whatever she was about to say was lost because finally, mercifully, Bash seemed to get her hint. He pulled back and then thrust forward deeply with no warning, and Mary whimpered against his neck, "Yes."

He rode back, shoved forward, and her whole body shook with the impact. She cried out, nails digging into his back. "I am sorry," Bash murmured against her temple, his voice tight, "I will not be gentle."

"Do what you will with me," Mary exhaled breathily, "Just do not stop."

His eyes darkened, and Mary swore she could see a tempest brewing in them. His voice lowered considerably. "As my lady desires."

Without a moment's hesitation he withdrew almost all the way, and then slammed himself back to her, and her back bowed as his name left her lips. Before Mary could gather her bearings he had rammed himself inside her again, and she shouted, fingers clawing into his shoulders at the intense sensation. How full she was when he was inside her, how empty she felt when he withdrew.

His fingers ground into the sheets, clenching them into fists, for leverage as he thrust in her with ruthless urgency, his movements bordering brutal against her. This was so different from his caresses, from his tenderness— each thrust forced a moan from her lips, each one louder than the last until she was sure the whole castle  _must_  know their queen yet lives. Such life he inspired in her, inflaming a reckless abandon that consumed her, had her writhing beneath him, gasping his name, the pleasure he stirred inside her still not enough— she wanted more, impossibly more.

"Bash, please." she shouted, so far gone, so thirsty for him that she was reduced to begging.

He dropped so he was propped on elbows on either side of her, leaning in dangerously close, "Please, what?" he asked, voice almost unrecognizable with his arousal. His thrusts became slower, longer, deeper and she tossed her head to the side, muffling her gasps.

She felt his hand, forefinger and thumb, grip her chin, firmly moving her face back to look at him. "I want to see you," such was the force of his gaze his statement might as well have been command, "Hear you." His voice was a low growl and Mary swore she almost finished with his words alone.

"Touch me," she whimpered, her voice hoarse and broken from her shouting.

Bash nodded once, their eyes fixed to one another, their breaths coming out raggedly as he continued his excruciatingly thorough pace. "Say you are mine." he baited, his words firm but his eyes betraying so much more. "Say you will only ever be mine."

He rolled his hips in such a way Mary's eyes momentarily fluttered and closed. "Yours." She breathed. "Always, forever, yours."

He smiled then, leaning down to kiss her neck lovingly, lick the sweat that beaded there. Then suddenly his hand gripped her hair at the crown of her head, and wrenched her head back in that perfect edge of pleasure bordering pain, exposing her throat to him as she called out at his rough play. His other hand found her center, and he finally,  _finally_ , touched her. She cried out, hands gripping his shoulders tightly, sighing laboriously as he pistoned into her at he same time he drew exquisite, wondrous circles over her core.

"You... are sunlight." he husked against the side of her throat. "You are sunrise..." he kissed along the edge of her jaw, breathless, "Sunset..." and then he was whispering into her ear, his words punctuated by exhales, "I will undo you, and your screams will bathe these walls with your radiance."

Mary whimpered helplessly— his hand gripping her hair and head back against the pillow, his deep, long strokes inside her, the incredible rhythm of his fingers, his voice, low, promising, dangerous, against her ear— it was all too much.

"Bash—" she panted, clutching at him. She was sure she couldn't possibly handle anymore, the pressure inside her too much, a hot heat that flushed her entirety, burning her— and she shattered.

For an instant all she could see was white, the world around her flashing into nothingness, and then as if to make up for her sudden loss of sensation all her senses crashed into her at once— she was gasping, her mouth opening wordlessly for a moment before sound finally followed as pleasure so intense shook her body with the force of it. It coursed through her in waves, over and over again. Her back arched and she gasped again, and she could feel her fingers gripping bruises into his arms as if he were her only anchor in this whirlwind of gratification. Her eyes clenched shut, trying to make sense of it all and then she called out his name, biting into his shoulder as she was swept, suddenly, abruptly into yet another wave.

Finally, mercifully, she fell back down to earth, to the pillow, to him, remnants of her pleasure still playing out in the quiver of her hands as she pressed them to his cheeks, to his neck, bringing him down to her lips for a long kiss.

When she pulled away, Bash was smiling widely, his eyes bright and she was sure he must be mirroring the smile on her own face. "Not bad then?" he panted, eyebrows raising dramatically with his jest.

She pushed him lightly, half-heartedly at his chest. "I suppose it will suffice." she countered with equal cheek, giddy and breathless in the aftermath.

He chuckled, kissing her forehead. She place her arms around his neck, and kissed his jawline. "But I do believe... we still have a  _slight_  problem..." she murmured, rolling her hips up where he was still very hard inside her. The action drew a soft exhalation from both of them.

" _Slight_?" Bash said, breathlessly, jokingly incredulous.

She smiled, aglow with their passion and Bash softened seeing her so relaxed, so warm. "Nothing we can't remedy," Mary said, shushing him with her lips. She felt him smirk as he pulled away.

"You mean  _I_  can't remedy?" he asked hotly against her ear, rolling his hips as indicator.

Mary laughed, lightly, the action tightening things low in her body. "No," she said, looking at him through her lashes and Bash almost lost it then. She pushed him hard on one shoulder suddenly, so he flipped over onto his back to the side of where they once were, Mary following so quickly and so seamlessly they were still joined in the most intimate of ways as she rolled on top, straddling him. "I meant  _I_ can't remedy."

Bash's eyes darkened at her dominance. "My queen." he said in deference, his voice low. The mood suddenly shifted from playful to lusting and Mary was suddenly, completely, out of her element.

The way he  _looked_  at her, his body language entirely submissive, expectant. His trust was daunting, overwhelming. Her unforeseen nervousness must have showed on her face because once more the Bash she knew returned to his eyes and he was there, with her, his hands to either side of her hips like a guide.

"I promise," he said quietly, as if sharing an age old secret with her that only he knew, "you already know how to do this. It is instinct." he rolled his hips up and her eyes closed, savoring the feeling as her own hips naturally sunk down to meet his. "Yes." he gritted out in half-pleasure, struggling to concentrate with being with her, instructing her. He paused, gathering his wits, his breaths slowing, his eyes closing, and Mary was struck with the sudden realization that he was close, so close to finishing and he was trying very hard to teach her, be with her, putting her first— as always.

He opened his eyes again, his expression determined. "Natural? See?" his tone light but his voice tight. Mary was abruptly, inexplicably beheld by him. She leaned down, gathering his face in her hands, and for a moment Bash looked confused and surprised by her actions, the softness in her eyes. She kissed him, tenderly, all closed eyes and soft supple lip, and then she rolled her hips against him— Bash's fingers clenching hard against her hips in response.

"I love you." she whispered, eyes opening to look at him, to make sure he heard her. His eyes were filled with affection, completely captivated. She kissed him again, undulating her hips as she sighed into his kiss. "I love you." She braced her forearms on his chest, ran her hands up his shoulders, up his neck, through his hair. She kissed his cheeks, his jaw, his neck. "I love you." She lifted her hips and rolled them down onto him and suddenly, his grip on her hips clenched so tightly she was sure he would leave bruises. Bash threw his head back and exalted her name, his hips jerking up to hers, once, twice, his whole body turning rigid and then he was back with her, hands cupping her face, smiling with fondness so deep it looked like relief, and he kissed her, short of breath as he was, but he didn't care.

After some time, Mary pulled away, just to ensure he would get some air, and laid her head on his chest, listening to the rapid thump of his heartbeat, reveling in the deep rise and fall of his chest, the soft glow of the sun draping over their bodies, and the presence of him. His hands stroked her hair slowly, lovingly, and Mary had a stray thought of how wonderful the rest of her life must have to be, with him by her side.

She rolled off of him and onto her back, exhaling softly as he slipped out of her. Bash shifted onto his side, facing her, and kissed her shoulder gently.

" _Vous êtes tellement belle._ " His words were French, thoughts clearly scattered, and though Mary understood and was sure Bash must have known she was almost fluent, he corrected himself immediately in English, bewildered at his own mistake. "You are so beautiful."

" _Je tu remercie."_  She replied, smiling gently. She was out of practice and she knew her French must have been accented but the look Bash gave her after she thanked him in his tongue made her know she made the right choice in saying them. She felt a sudden burst of boldness from the warm reception in his eyes and she added, " _Je t'aime._ "

He smiled so brightly then that Mary flushed. He was so unashamed of his feelings for her and his open displays had quite the influence on her composure.

"And I love you." he responded, his grin turning roguish. "But your French could use some work."

Mary laughed incredulously at his gall— how quickly he moved from passion to cheek!— and she rolled away from him playfully as if in a huff, but Bash wouldn't let her get far and he pulled her easily back to him much to her false displeasure. His body curved easily behind hers as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed his lips to the crown of her head, wondering if she too marveled at how perfectly she fit in his arms.

"Do not fret, your grace," he began, his words a low rumble along her spine, "we have the rest of our lives to practice. Lessons to begin immediately."

"Immediately? Really?" she said, turning to look at him over her shoulder, her expression both wary and curious.

He nodded, trying to look serious and failing, "Yes. French has a lot of movement in the lips. Tongue. Though not withholding the throat."

"Mm." Mary hummed, nodding in understanding, also pretending to be serious.

"So for example..." his fingers trailed down her arm, eyes following, and he began to play with her fingers absentmindedly, the new ring on her finger, "Say ' _s'il vous plait.'_ "

Her heart fluttered at the way the words rolled so easily from his mouth. "You want me to say 'Please' in French?" she asked, a wry smile tugging at her lips.

"I have a sneaking suspicion you were a difficult student growing up, Mary." he countered, still engrossed with her fingers.

She rolled her eyes and said, very carefully. " _S'il vous plait._ "

"Hmm." Bash murmured against her head. "Again."

" _S'il vous plait?_ " she said, unsure where her mistake was. And suddenly he kissed her, quite literally leaving her speechless. When he pulled away, Mary couldn't help but smile widely at him. "What was that for?"

Bash smirked. "Well, you were asking so nicely."

Mary fell into a fit of laughter at his behavior. "You are— are—"

"Fascinating? Incredible? Exceptionally handsome?" Bash offered cheekily.

"Impossible." Mary finished.

He chuckled, a soft exhalation of breath in her hair. He kissed her lips again, softly, chastely.

"Say... ' _crise de jalousie.'_ "

Mary looked up in thought. "'Jealous rage?'"

"Yes, but in French."

Mary nudged him playfully and then leaned back into his chest. " _Crise... de... ja... ja..._ " Though she couldn't see him Mary could feel him smiling at her attempts. He had picked something particularly difficult on purpose. She looked up at him in question, "Can you say it again?"

" _Crise de jalousie_."

"Jealousy. Can you say that slower?"

" _Ja...lu—_ "

Mary pushed herself upward catching his lips in hers, and she sucked his bottom lip gently before pulling away. Bash looked surprised, but not the least bit displeased at her spontaneity.

She turned around in his arms so she faced him. "I could not quite hear how you were pronouncing the ' _lou_ ' in ' _jalousie_ ,'" she said, her pronunciation perfect, and Bash's eyebrows raised realizing Mary had been the one who played him, "The nuns at the convent were especially keen I practice the French 'ou' as often as possible and it seems I  _just_  can't get it right..." Bash was smiling now, completely beholden to his wife in his arms, "So I decided to memorize by feel instead." her face was the perfect picture of innocence.

"Ah. Well your French is bordering on atrocious so we'll have to practice often then..." he murmured, dipping down to kiss her again and effectively muffling her laughter.

* * *

A/N: I feel obligated to say that I flip-flipped countless times on whether or not I wanted to make Mary lead their first time, or Bash. I ended up choosing what I thought was the bigger challenge of Bash because I wanted to finally unleash all that restraint he demonstrates on the show. I wanted to develop a side of him that must exist for his character in regards to Mary, but he always holds back. I can not tell you how awfully nervous I am that I made him unrecognizably out of character by doing so. =/ I almost considered not posting but hey, if you're looking for a story and it hasn't been written yet, you write it yourself, right? Also, the Bash and Mary French exchange at the end was totally an indulgence on my part. I want that to happen so bad. Haha! Thanks for sticking with me until the end. Please leave a comment— let me know what you liked, didn't like, would have preferred, or if I should keep writing this pairing, etc. Comments are like generous tips to fanfic writers! They make our day!


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